


A Visit to Skyhold

by mille_libri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They parted years ago, letting inclination give way to duty. Can Fergus Cousland convince the Inquisition's lovely Ambassador to give love a chance the second time around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Visit to Skyhold

Fergus Cousland reined his horse in on the mountain path, looking up at the imposing building in front of him. So this was Skyhold.

His horse stamped the ground impatiently beneath him, and absently he patted it on the neck, still gazing at the towers. He had read about Skyhold, of course, as the Inquisition’s rise to power began, but he’d had no concept of the sheer size of the place. It dwarfed Highever Castle—even the grander version that had burnt before the Blight.

“Hey, buddy, you gonna just sit there blockin’ the path all day, or what?” a voice growled behind him, and he turned to see an irritated dwarf on the seat of a large wagon, waiting for him.

“My apologies, ser dwarf. I won’t hold you up any further.”

The dwarf grunted in response, and Fergus spurred the horse on up the path. 

Inside the gates, everything was bustling. The dwarf immediately leaped down from his wagon seat and began unloading goods, and a swarm of people in Inquisition uniforms came to help him. There were a couple of other recently arrived travelers unloading horses, as well. One of them Fergus recognized as a minor Orlesian noble he’d done business with once or twice. 

Hastily, Fergus ducked his head, not wanting to be recognized. The Inquisition would know who he was soon enough, but for now he was enjoying the rare luxury of anonymity.  
He was a bit surprised that no one accosted him and demanded to know what he was doing there. A young stable lad came to take his horse, promising to see that it was well cared for during his stay, but didn’t ask how long that stay would be. It seemed strange; he’d heard the Inquisition was frighteningly efficient.

But he wasn’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth. Not being questioned gave him time to wander, to look at the place, to simply enjoy being on his own. The momentary respite from the cares of the teyrnir was a blissful relief, and he blessed Weatherby, his seneschal, for suggesting that he take the trip himself rather than send his tribute to the Inquisition by a messenger. In truth, it had taken very little convincing; Fergus’s mind had been on Skyhold, and in particular on one of its inhabitants, for some time.

Fergus stopped by the sparring ring in the main courtyard to watch the match in progress—a red-headed woman with two daggers against a strapping scarred Qunari with one eye. The Qunari had the reach and the strength, but his heavy two-handed weapon made his reactions much slower than those of the woman, and she was tiring him out slowly but surely. It was obvious they were familiar with each other’s fighting styles; their moves were too easy and practiced to be otherwise. And equally obvious that they were good friends—good-natured taunts and jibes flew as fast as the blades.

The spectators were cheering loudly, and from their shouts Fergus learned that the red-haired woman was the Inquisitor. He wondered about that—wasn’t it damaging to her dignity to be seen like this, cheeks flushed and hair all in her face in the heat of combat? Or maybe it wasn’t dignity that was called for in this role as much as it was making sure everyone knew she was ready to handle whatever was thrown at her.

He didn’t stay to watch the end of the match, but took the stairs slowly up to the main keep. Another red-haired woman was standing at the top of the steps looking down at him, a smile on her pretty face.

“Teyrn Cousland! To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Fergus frowned at her. She looked familiar … “Leliana?”

“The same! It has been a long time, has it not?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head curiously. “How did you know?”

“That you were coming? Please, my lord, give my spies some credit. We have been expecting you.”

“Call me Fergus. We fought the Blight, you know. Perhaps not together, but … it counts.”

“That it does.” Leliana nodded. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

“I imagine you know I did.” He looked at her, and at the Inquisition, with new respect, and Leliana laughed.

“Yes. It looks a mess, does it not? Skyhold constantly under construction, all the bustle of the courtyards, our Inquisitor fighting a sparring match in the middle … anyone allying with us is clearly conferring on us a very great favor. Or so they believe.”

“I think I see what you mean.”

“But I should not keep you,” Leliana said. “I imagine you will want to be shown to your room and … restore yourself from your travels before you meet with our ambassador.” Her eyes laughed, telling him she knew all about the real reason for his visit.

Fergus’s pulse beat just a little faster. It was a sensation that had been all too rare since his wife Oriana had been killed, and there was enjoyment in just feeling the blood surge through his veins. The Inquisition’s ambassador: Josephine Montilyet. He had known her long ago in Antiva and in Orlais. At the time, he had found her a beautiful woman, but she had been in the midst of being groomed to take over her family’s holdings, and he had been in the market for a lady he could bring home to Highever, so nothing had ever come of his admiration of her.

They had renewed the acquaintance since the rise of the Inquisition, through correspondence. All very oblique and veiled, of course, but Fergus still leapt at every communication from the Inquisition. The most recent letter had extolled the virtues of Skyhold and had expressed curiosity about the rebuilt Highever Castle. Fergus was a little rusty at reading between the lines, but those together seemed to him to be a necessarily oblique indication of her feelings.

He eagerly took advantage of Leliana’s suggestion, feeling a bit like a ridiculous schoolboy, but liking the feeling. His heart had been buried in the ashes of Highever Castle for a long time. Too long. It was indescribably refreshing to feel this rejuvenating quickness of breath just anticipating his first sight of her.

Fergus took his time dressing and fussed with his hair in the glass for far longer than he probably should have. He looked different, far different, than he had in Antiva all those years ago. There was a fair sprinkling of grey in his hair now, there were scars on his face that hadn’t been there, and he carried the weight of years of grieving and guilt. Could he set that aside for any woman? Could he forget Oriana and Oren, his wife’s warm smile and his little boy’s lisping voice?

But nothing would bring them back. All his tears and all the years of wishing he had been there to save them … none of those had brought them back. All of his prayers to the Maker and his railing against Howe … they hadn’t brought his family back either. Nothing would, he reminded himself, looking himself squarely in the eye in the glass, and sitting alone in Highever and mourning the lost was as much a waste of his life as if he had died with them, or in that Chasind hut in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. 

Determined now, he left the room, asking the first person he saw, a slender man with an exaggerated mustache, for directions to the Ambassador’s office. 

“Perhaps I should walk you.”

“By all means.”

“Yes, Skyhold can be a bit of a labyrinth until you get used to it. Twists and turns that bring you out in the most unexpected locations.” He smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth. 

“My name is Dorian Pavus, late of Tevinter.”

“A magister?” Fergus asked in surprise.

Dorian sighed. “Everyone says the same thing. No, not a magister.”

“I apologize if I’ve offended. My name is Fergus Cousland.”

“Ah, the Teyrn of Highever?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“We are hardly uneducated in Tevinter,” Dorian said stiffly.

Fergus chuckled. “It’s been my understanding that a knowledge of Fereldan nobility is what the rest of Thedas considers uneducated.”

Dorian looked at him for a moment, then his tension eased into a smile. “I do like a man with a sense of humor. As it happens, our Ambassador mentioned you.”

“Did she?” Fergus asked, then could have kicked himself for his eagerness, especially when Dorian’s eyes twinkled at him in a way that said the Tevinter knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

“Perhaps.”

They were silent for a moment, Fergus absolutely refusing to ask and Dorian glancing at him in amusement every couple of seconds.

“What did she say?” Fergus asked at last, the words torn from him.

Dorian threw back his head, laughing heartily. “You are the most entertaining visitor we’ve had in quite some time, Your Grace.”

“Please, Fergus. Now, what did she say?”

“Only the most complimentary things, I assure you.”

Fergus had been hoping for more detail, but he supposed he would have to be satisfied with that. He could hear the buzz of voices in the main hall now. Dorian pushed open a door. 

“Here we are, Your Grace. You will find Ambassador Montilyet through that door over there. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Dorian bowed. 

“Same here. I look forward to talking with you more during my stay here—I’ve always been interested to learn more about your country.”

“More than the basic realization that we are not all magisters?”

“I think I have that one now—I won’t make the mistake again.”

Dorian grinned. “Not to worry. I believe most of my fellow countrymen—and women—would be flattered by the assumption. I’m something of a rarity.”

“I’m sure you are.” Fergus nodded at the Tevinter, then turned and faced the door of Josephine’s office. He took a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in,” said a lovely accented voice that was immediately familiar despite the years since he had last heard it.

Fergus stuck his head in the door. “Ambassador?”

She looked up, her eyes as clear and lovely as he remembered—possibly more so. “Teyrn Cousland!”

“Please, call me Fergus. We’ve known each other too long for such formality.”

Josephine rose, smiling at him. The reality of being here in this room with her was overwhelming, but strangely, Fergus felt more comfortable than he had in a long time. “I wholeheartedly agree. Fergus. And you will call me Josephine?”

“Of course. Josephine.” He crossed the room, taking her outstretched hand in his, lifting it to his lips. Did he hold on to it a shade too long, admiring the slender fingers and the soft, smooth skin, and the way it felt in his? There was a crinkling of her beautiful eyes that said perhaps he had, but that she didn’t mind. “I came to bring Highever’s tribute to the Inquisition.”

“Yourself? That is a most generous use of your time.”

He shrugged, smiling. “Not particularly generous. I confess, I was curious about your Skyhold, and your Inquisitor.” And you, he thought, but he didn’t say as much. He hadn’t felt this tongue-tied and nervous in a woman’s presence since … well, possibly since the last time he had seen her, so many years ago.

“Perhaps you would like a tour, then?”

Fergus cleared his throat, taking an irrevocable step in the direction of what he had truly come for. “That … would depend on who my guide might be.” She couldn’t misunderstand that, he was sure.

And she didn’t, to judge by the dimples that appeared with her smile. “I believe I could arrange to show you around Skyhold myself, if you can wait until I am at liberty.”  
“For such a lovely tour guide, I would wait until the end of the age.”

The smile widened, if possible, the dimples deepening. “Oh, I am certain your patience will not have to stretch such a long time as that.”

“And if I were to offer you a tour of Highever?” Fergus asked softly. “How long would I need to be patient?”

The smile faded from her face, but there was still a light in her eyes as Josephine met his gaze. “I could not think of another place until such time as Corypheus has been dealt with, and then I would have to be certain my family’s affairs are in order.”

“But after that?”

“After that …” She looked away. “We have spoken in our letters about your loss, and about my family’s needs, so we both know what those challenges entail and what lies in our pasts. As to the future … I lost my chance to … tour your home many years ago because I did not feel I could tear myself away from my own duties. This time, I believe things are different.”

“How so?” He could hardly breathe, waiting for her response.

“Your letters,” she said, her eyes meeting his again. “I had forgotten how easy you were to talk to, how … well you understand me, and I—do not want to give that up again. It may be complicated, but I am not a woman who has ever been afraid of hard work.”

“Josephine.” Something in Fergus couldn’t believe it had been this easy. He had been alone for so long; could that time really end this way? It seemed too good to be true. He reached for her hand again, tugging lightly until her body rested against his.

“My lord,” she said breathlessly, but it didn’t sound like a protest, so Fergus slipped an arm around her waist to hold her there.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

Her smile gave him the answer, and the permission, he was looking for, and he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently at first, and then with growing ardor as she awoke in him the memory of a passion he hadn’t felt in altogether too long. 

They broke apart before the flames between them could rise too high, looking at one another in perfect accord. There would be complexities yet to come, the melding of her duties to the Inquisition and her family with his to his teyrnir, but they would weather them together. For now, Fergus was content, the shadows of his past, if not entirely at rest, at least at bay, and his future shining as brightly as the sun.


End file.
